


Man’s Only Got One Father

by essexmermaid



Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Endeavour Morse Needs a Hug, Gen, Parental Fred Thursday, Protective Fred Thursday, ThursDAD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2019-11-13
Packaged: 2021-01-30 00:53:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21419506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/essexmermaid/pseuds/essexmermaid
Summary: Endeavour’s father is dying and Fred Thursday would willingly become Morse’s second father. If only Endeavour would let him.
Relationships: Endeavour Morse & Fred Thursday
Comments: 6
Kudos: 43





	Man’s Only Got One Father

Detective Chief Inspector Fred Thursday sat late into the evening at his desk, waiting for the phone call he suspected would never come. Two days ago Morse had rushed off to be at the bedside of his dying father. Thursday was beside himself with worry about the lad, desperate to hear from him, knowing he was being over protective about his favourite police Constable.

_Why hasn’t he called?. He must know what’s what by now. Don’t they have phones up there?_

“Man’s only got one father,” Thursday had advised Morse.

His young bagman was paralysed with indecision after getting a phone call from his sister, asking him to return to see his father urgently. Clearly Morse junior had not been close to the senior for some time or he’d not have hesitated.

_No love lost there. How his father could neglect a bright young fellow like Morse I’ll never know. He needs a guiding hand, someone to keep him safe, to save him from himself. I’d be that man if only he’d let me take care of him._

Thursday had taken Morse to the train station, making Morse promise to phone once he had arrived at his father’s house. Thursday had no phone number to make the call himself, only an address in the remote countryside.

_Bugger it! He’s been gone for days now. What the hell’s happened to him? He’ll have taken it badly, knowing him._

Thursday fretted that Morse would lose himself in grief over his father dying, already riddled with guilt at being estranged from the man for years. Thursday knew that Morse had always been full of self doubt and was especially vulnerable after a recent, serious wound from being shot in the leg.

_With that leg he’ll be struggling to look after himself. He’ll need help to get through this. How can I help him if he won’t call?_

Impatiently Thursday packed up his desk, locked his office and informed his Sergeant that he wouldn’t be coming in tomorrow. He drove himself home in the Jag having checked it out for the following day.

_Only take a day to drive up there and see him. Be back in time for dinner. Put my mind at rest if nothing else._

Thursday spent a sleepless night worried sick that Morse might have collapsed from the leg wound, or under the emotional burden of his father’s imminent death. Morse had no-one else to turn to, the strain would be unbearable for him. Thursday knew Morse needed a father figure to help him through this trial. And he was more than willing to be that man.

_888888_

The next day Thursday stood outside the Morse family home with an inch of snow on the ground and a bitter wind cutting across the open land. Morse stood shivering in a thin shirt facing his governor. His father had died early that morning and Morse mumbled something about needing to stay on to sort things out.

_Poor sod. Doesn’t know whether he’s coming or going. He thinks that if he stays on here he will somehow make amends. But that’s all rubbish. He’s nothing to feel guilty about._

Surprised at Thursday appearing unannounced after a long drive up from Oxford, Morse had not exactly been welcoming. He seemed stunned, almost mute with shock, making noises about staying longer, about giving up on policing, giving up on Oxford, sounding like he was giving up altogether.

_He can be so pig headed at times. Refuses to see what’s in his own best interests. There’s nothing to keep him here now that old bugger’s gone. _

Morse’s sister had taken Thursday to one side, urging him to persuade Morse to go back to Oxford. She was brave enough to tell Thursday she’d be able to cope without Morse. For his own sake, she wanted Morse to leave, to go back to where he was needed, to be with people who cared for him.

_Even your sister realises you’ll stay on out of some misguided sense of duty. It’d destroy you. Come home with me, lad._

Thursday had tried to talk Morse into returning to Oxford with him but the lad had resisted, didn’t seem to be able to face coming home. Thursday was frustrated but wasn’t going to give up on him. Morse stood shivering and uncommunicative.

_Doesn’t he feel the cold, wondered Fred, doesn’t he know it’s bloody freezing out here? Buggered if I can stand around in this cold for much longer._

Fred was wearing a thick overcoat with a favourite woollen scarf around his neck. It had been a present from his wife some years ago, a shop bought scarf rather than home knitted, paid for after scrimping and saving her pennies to provide him with a little luxury.

_I wish I could help you. Just offer a little comfort. You look so beaten down. I’d love you, son, if only you’d let me._

Fred unbuttoned the top two buttons of his overcoat and pulled off his scarf, exposing his breast to the shock of the cold. He wound the scarf, still warm with his own body heat, round Morse’s neck. Obediently, Morse ducked his head to let Fred tend to him. Big hands gently tucked one end through the other and smoothed the scarf over Morse’s skinny chest.

Morse dropped his chin to peer closely at the scarf, as if surprised that it had appeared there.

_That’s right, lad. Doing you a kindness. For no other reason than you deserve it. It’s little enough but you’re not used to people being kind to you, are you?_

“I can’t…I can’t take this,” muttered Morse into the warmth of the wool.

“It’s not a gift, Morse. Just giving you a lend of it. You can let me have it back when you’re back at the station,” Fred explained.

Morse started, jerking his head up to look his governor in the eye at last.

_Aha, you heard me that time. You’re coming home if I have to come and fetch you back myself._

“You’re needed, lad, back in Oxford. We need you at the nick, solving crimes with that great brain of yours!” he teased gently.

Morse, dumb again, shook his head and dropped his gaze.

_When will you understand? When will you give yourself credit? There are people who need you, who want to be your friends. If you’ll let them._

“You’re needed, Morse. _I _need you. All at sixes and sevens without you to see me right.” Fred spoke softly but urgently, waiting patiently for a reply. He could see that Morse was struggling to explain himself.

_Can’t you see, lad, you’ll be throwing away your life by making a martyr of yourself here? They don’t need you here, you don’t want to be here, there’s nothing for you. For God’s sake come home to Oxford._

“I’m needed here,” mumbled Morse as if that would explain his self sacrifice.

“No! No you’re not!” snapped Fred. “They don’t need you, just ask your sister,” he added unkindly.

Morse reeled back from his cruel words and turned his cheek as if he had been slapped. Fred sighed with exasperation.

_I don’t want to hurt you lad, but you’re your own worst enemy. Can’t you see it’ll be the death of you to stay on here?_

Fred reached out and took hold of a fistful of woollen scarf, pulling Morse close enough to feel his breath on his face.

“Don’t you understand, lad? You’re needed back in Oxford. You stay here because of some sort of guilt trip and your life will be a terrible waste. You can’t make up for having a lousy past, but you can build a future for yourself in Oxford.”

Fred shook him unintentionally, wanted to shake some common sense into that brainy head. He was suddenly tired of the struggle, worn out by the long drive and sick at heart that he could not make Morse see what was best for him.

_Ah, what’s the use? The lad’s as stubborn as they come. I’ve had a wasted journey after all._

Fred let go his grip on Morse and stepped back. Fred half turned away, disappointed that he couldn’t persuade Morse to return to Oxford.

“Monday,” said Morse unexpectedly.

“What’s that?” asked Fred warily.

“Monday. I’ll bring your scarf back Monday. After the funeral.”

Fred took a deep lungful and blew out a cloud of warm breath into the cold air.

_At last. I’ve got through to him. Dear God, I thought I’d lost him._

Fred could not put into words the relief he felt. Instead he caught Morse up in a warm embrace and hugged the shivering lad to his chest for a long moment before letting him go.

Fred tried to lighten the mood. “And mind you do bring that scarf back. It was a present from the wife. Win would never forgive me if I lost it.”

Morse twitched a brief, tired smile, acknowledging the joke between them.

“You’re wrong, you know?” Morse added quietly.

Fred looked enquiringly at the young man, wanting an explanation.

“Man’s only got one father, you said,” Morse cocked his head to one side waiting for Fred to get his meaning. “But some of us are lucky enough to get a second chance.”

Fred smiled wearily and nodded, acknowledging the compliment.

“Monday then, Morse.”

Fred walked back to the Jag, delighted at the outcome and relieved Morse would indeed be coming home soon. He gave a last glance to see that Morse had gone back inside and he lifted his hand in farewell to his sister who had been watching them from the window.

_Thank God that’s over! He’s coming home. That’ll have to do for now. Mustn’t push him too hard or he’ll run for it again. _

He had won the battle for now. Morse would return to Oxford where Fred truly thought he would be better off. But Fred knew he would have to continue fighting to convince Morse that he was needed, wanted, loved even, until one day, perhaps, Morse would understand this for himself.

**Author's Note:**

> #Endeavour Morse Needs a Hug. When doesn’t he? Written from Fred's point of view so we see how needy Endeavour can be sometimes. 
> 
> #ThursDad to the rescue (again).
> 
> Please leave me some comments! I love writing this stuff but would love it even more if you could let me know what you think?


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